


Meet Me In The Morning

by alba17



Category: Inside Llewyn Davis
Genre: 1960s, Adultery, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One way it might have happened between Llewyn and Jean. For Porn Battle XV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Me In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Title from (naturally) a Bob Dylan song.

Llewyn woke to find Jean sitting on the edge of the couch, a cup of coffee in her hand. He wiped his eyes and reflexively looked out the window, where a cold, low sky blanketed the rooftops.

“That for me?” he said.

Her mouth turned sour and she took a sip. The mug was a pale industrial green reminiscent of hospital cafeterias. “Yeah, right.”

Llewyn sighed and stretched his legs. You’d think he’d have gotten used to the cramped conditions by now. Every night was a challenge. He wasn’t a particularly tall man but couches weren’t made to accommodate the full length of the normal male form. Darkness pulled at the edges of his consciousness. He scrubbed his face and got up on his elbow to look at Jean peacefully sipping at her coffee. 

“Don’t suppose there’s any more?”

“No.” Her face was impassive as always.

There was always Cafe Reggio. Better coffee anyway. He wondered if Jean and Jim still had that box of cornflakes. He sighed again. He was doing a lot of sighing lately.

His left hand had ended up right near Jean’s ass. She had on those cute navy blue capri pants that hugged her bottom. Her legs were crossed and the fabric was tight along her thigh. Llewyn’s eye dragged along the thrust of her pert little breasts that stretched the rib fabric of her burnt orange turtleneck and up along the delicate arch of her pale neck to her big brown eyes. They turned down at the edge like a spaniel’s. She wanted to be all prickly but deep down she was a needy puppy.

He let his fingers graze her ass. She shifted, pretending she didn’t notice. He turned to lie on his back to get better access. He had on a t-shirt and boxers and the cadet blue wool blanket was gathered around his waist.

“Jim here?” he said.

Her eyes shifted around the apartment, to the kitchen area and over to the bedroom door. “No, he had an appointment to talk to Murray Silverstein, you know him? Over at Folktown Records. Murray saw us at the Gaslight last week.”

Llewyn’s stomach curdled. That reminded him he needed to go see Mel. 

“I’m hoping he’ll have us do a record. Wouldn’t that be amazing?” She ventured a private grin, determinedly not letting Llewyn in.

“Yeah.” His hand spread around the mound of her ass, tidy and neat but still filling his palm. His fingers slid along the cotton fabric. She looked down and took another sip of her coffee. She slid her leg back down so both feet were on the floor and shifted her weight toward Llewyn. He moved his hand slowly over her butt in a caressing motion. She leaned over to put the mug on the floor. When she straightened up, she looked at the far wall then put her right hand next to his thigh.

Her nails were clean and neat, short even though she didn’t play the guitar, just sang. Her voice was pure and simple, well-suited to folk music. When she and Jim sang, the room vibrated and everyone wanted to look at them. Everything about her was perfect and tidy, well-kept.

Llewyn swept his arm around her waist from behind and pulled her down. She lay across him motionless for a moment, then turned toward him. He felt an increase in the intimacy between them just from her proximity. He thought of Jim, his clean cut image, his earnestness, then thrust away the thought. He curled a hand around Jean’s shoulder, the ribbed texture of her turtleneck under his fingers. He could feel the warmth of her body through the fabric.

Jean, so perfect. Her eyes were downcast, as if she were embarrassed, but he knew better than that. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. She was putting on a bit of a show, but he was okay with that. He thought of her pussy, wet and pulsing between the legs of her navy capris. He’d made her come before, and he liked that. He wondered if Jim could do that.

He pulled her up on top of his torso and put his hands on either side of her slim waist. “Hi,” he said.

She actually smiled. “Hi.” 

Their hips moved together. He could feel his cock getting bigger, her limbs loosening against his.

“I like those pants.”

“Yeah?” Her face hovered close to his. He could smell the coffee on her breath. 

“Yeah.” They looked at each other for a moment, then they were kissing. He didn’t know if she started it or if he did, but her lips were wonderfully warm and soft against his, and her body pressed down all along his length, hot and eager.

His erection got bigger.

They kissed for awhile. All the time, he listened for the door, hoping that Jim wouldn’t suddenly come home. He didn’t have an issue with fucking Jean if that was what Jean wanted, but he didn’t particularly want Jim to discover them doing it. That was really kind of rude, even for Llewyn. 

Jean writhed on top of him, getting more and more excited. It was thrilling. His hips thrust up into her and his hands moved along her flank. He scrabbled at the hem of her shirt, pushing his fingers under it to feel the smooth taut flesh. She was very thin and there was little to hang on to. She pulled up her shirt and threw it aside. Llewyn spread his hands on her ribcage as she arched her back and pressed her weight down, panting, then he moved up to cup her breasts. 

He hated bras, but he loved breasts. He first felt the shape of her through the prim white bra, devoid of ornamentation. A sigh shuddered through him, and there was a part of him that wished she were bigger. He slid his hands around to her back and found the bra clasp. He slid it open, desperate to feel her and hating the stupid fabric in his way. He pulled the bra off her and found her bare breasts, cupping their fullness, the soft, giving flesh. So much better. She pressed into him, pushing down the blanket, pulling up his t-shirt so she could feel his bare chest.

He was fully erect now, sure she could feel it, the way she was pressing down into him with her hips. He could feel the indentation between her legs where her vagina was but there was too much in the way, what with the blanket and his shorts and her pants. He was grateful when she got up to take off her pants, revealing pale thin thighs and pink underwear, which she shortly divested. She straddled him, standing on her knees. He eyed her brown pubic hair and his breath became short. 

She wasn’t his type, not really, but still, there was something. And then there was the success she and Jim had had, and getting some of that, somehow, even in this pathetic manner. He was highly aware she was someone else’s wife, someone else’s singing partner, that she and Jim had something he’d lost, or something he’d never had, he wasn’t sure what it was. But her enthusiasm made him glad, and his cock burgeoned and swelled.

She maneuvered the blanket and clothing out of the way so his cock was naked and she was naked against him.

“Yeah, babe,” he murmured as she thrust down on him. His cock disappeared inside her and it was good. It was warm and welcoming and tight, oh so tight. His hips started pistoning up involuntarily. Her hands clung to his waist, occasionally sweeping up across his chest, darting across his nipples. They banged into each other and it got wet and luscious between their legs. She twisted his nipples, tweaked his balls, all the time rutting on top of him, that warm wet tightness clinging to his cock until he came in a blast of feeling.

His movements slowed without his even controlling it, not even knowing if she’d gotten her satisfaction. As he recovered his senses, he could see that she hadn’t. Her desperate thrusting against him hadn’t abated in the least, her mouth fallen open and her upper lip sweaty, her eyebrows drawn and tense.

“Come on, asshole,” she said, her hips agitated.

He ground his hips up into her and she thrust down on him, pressing her clit just so. His hand fluttered nearby, unsure whether to get involved or let her do her thing. For just one second, his thumb pressed on her clit, his cock sliding up and down, slick with their juices. She flung her head back and whimpered, clamped her hand onto his wrist to prevent him from moving, then shuddered. He could feel the pulse of her around his cock. Her whole body was flushed and in that moment she was beautiful, strands of her bangs stuck to her forehead, her body curved and tensed against his.

“Oh, Llewyn. God.”

He shut his eyes. She was soft and mushy around his cock and suddenly he wanted out of her more than anything. He shifted, trying to get her to get off.

It was only then that he realized he hadn’t used a condom.

Fucking hell. 

“I gotta get going,” he mumbled, feeling sticky and wishing he could take a shower, but thinking it would be better to get out of here. He didn’t want to see what kinds of soap and shampoo Jean and Jim had, be tempted to look in their medicine cabinet.

“Yeah, okay.” She was still breathing fast, her eyes shut. In a moment she got off him, gathered her clothes and disappeared into the apartment.

What the fuck.

Jesus. He had to do something about the way he’d been living. Tomorrow. That’s when he’d make his move. Tomorrow.


End file.
